


Birddog

by grayorca, YearwalktheWorld



Series: Skynet: 900 [7]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Wings, Angst, Drama, Gen, Platonic Relationships, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has a Different Name, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 07:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17997392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayorca/pseuds/grayorca, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YearwalktheWorld/pseuds/YearwalktheWorld
Summary: Wings AU. Birds of a feather, and all that.





	Birddog

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to _Pegged_.
> 
> The Amino poll wanted Gavin!whump. Here you go. Hopefully the story has some theme to it besides that.
> 
> Creative liberties taken. As much as they aren’t.

Even in 2039, meteorology remained an imperfect science. It was relayed in news reports and live radio broadcasts in general percentages and estimated times of day. To the uniformed listener, it was reliable enough.

Noah relied on in-built instrumentation that afforded him far more precise numbers to operate by. Any android that ever flew had to. And the air pressure today, combined with a strong possibility of thundershowers, meant the likelihood this pursuit would fail went decidedly up. Warily, he kept partial focus on the holographic readouts, proverbial needles inching closer and closer to initiating grounded mode.

Gavin Reed picked precisely the wrong time to leap into his car and play hot pursuit.

A la _The Dukes of Hazzard._

Later, Noah would appreciate the pop culture irony. He had, inadvertently enough, sat through watching a few episodes. One thing he had noted right away was how modestly tame that old television series had been. The car pursuits, no matter how janky or dodgy, typically ended with no more than a bump on the head for old Sheriff Coltrane.

Even when his squad car completely rolled over. The seatbelt would have only prevented so much damage.

The point was, by the time Gavin’s own pursuit came to an abrupt halt, it was bad enough to crash. Getting blindsided by a second suspect vehicle, with hand guns pointed out the passenger side windows, added injury to insult.

Keeping pace, while some half a block behind, Noah skimmed over the bumper-to-bumper traffic like a seagull above the ocean. If he turned right here, took the small concourse instead of the block’s outer perimeter, he could intercept in time to grab onto the suspect’s car.

It worked. Hooking his fingers into the slightly-open window, he flipped to a crouching stop atop the sedan’s slippery-wet roof. A muffled shout of outrage sounded off from the driver.

A second later, it was echoed far more audibly by a chatter of gunfire, followed by shrill, screeching tires, capped off by a short, bass _crunch_ of folding metal. Horns blaring and pedestrians screaming sounded off in unison.

A new objective notice stamped itself across Noah’s vision:

_Assist Detective Reed_

Suspect forgotten, inwardly cursing the failure to ensue, he lept off, rebounding off a nearby fire escape to reverse direction. The second sedan blew by, a stray gunshot one last hurrah given by the occupants within.

Half flying, half leapfrogging his way back, Noah’s eyes only stayed on the smoking, crumpled red wreck of the former muscle car wrapped around a lamppost. Somehow, it had wound up half overturned, driver’s door flat against the road. One of the wheels was still spinning.

Seconds later, he heard the impassionate dispatch voice drone _“officer down.”_

But at least the rain had held off long enough for him to get there.

——-

In one word, how Gavin would describe how he felt about the situation he found himself in, it would be: pissed.

His _fucking_ car. Bad enough he had to use it in the first place (which was really only a regret now, using his own, classic Camaro was pretty fucking cool when it actually got the job done) and now it was definitely totaled, no hope for salvage from it.

Maybe he should have been more concerned about his own welfare, but at the moment, the pain wasn't hitting him in full. Probably soon, and then the best he would be able to form would be a semi-coherent thought, but for now, all he felt was anger.

Where the hell had Noah been, during this, as well? They really thought Gavin, with his just - delightful temperament was the best man tasked to ‘ask a couple of questions’? No wonder they fucking ran, he would have, too.

Sure, after all the shit with those Overclocked androids (with one now regrettably under his inadvertent protection at his apartment building) and Javier Sindino’s chess game officially put in limbo, the red ice business seemed a little slower than usual. But that didn't mean the police didn't stop their questioning of those in connection with it. Some gangs probably had fuck tons of storage for that shit, with how popular it was.

The one in Delray was just the tip of a _Titanic_ -sinking iceberg.

So when him and Noah were directed to talk to a couple of presumed pushers of ice on the streets, it wasn't any big fucking shock. Even if Gavin was a bit uneasy of going to talk to them alone, he was a detective, not some rookie straight out of the academy. _That_ was more Noah, even if he was built for this shit - it didn't measure up to real experience. The RK900 hadn’t been through but a handful of busts, besides dozens of sketchy interviews.

Maybe it was just sheer bad luck, or maybe Reed had pressed too hard, too fast. Or maybe the suspects had already been jumpy enough, and the likes of him made them run without warning, which of course led to a fucking foot chase -

Gavin winced, letting out a sharp hiss as some first round of pain cut through his own moaning about what went down. Where was he even injured again, besides generally? He couldn't tell through whatever jetlag haze he was already in, still pissed off about his ruined car.

Where the hell was Noah during _all_ of that, or right now? Course he hadn't really been looking for the android, more intent on not letting the two assholes get away, but it was on his mind, nevertheless. Anything to keep it off of whatever would be the next, most likely much stronger, sharper pain that let him know that, yeah, you're still in your fucking car, moron.

Trapped, to be precise.

All because he was trying to avoid those fuckers with guns. Total self-preservation moment. Shit, it wasn't like he was in the mood to get…

Thoughts cutting out again, another stab of pain left Gavin almost breathless, hands automatically going to where it was coming from, only to come back slick with his own blood.

Oh, _shit._ Just the thing he had been trying to avoid, getting shot up by the - what, protectors? Were they watching over the two he tried questioning? - other assholes by crashing, now ended up with him shot as well. It was almost ironic enough for him to laugh.

But not amusingly ironic enough to aggravate his new wounds.

_Thump._

The only light pouring in from the window above abruptly disappeared. Blotted out by the new arrival’s silhouette, it reappeared through a fuzzy screen of fanned-out feathers.

Oh, sure, _now_ the featherbrain turned up, late to the real party, too busy going after the decoy to effectively cover his partner.

Fuckwit.

There was a diagonal crack in the window. Peering down through it, blue eyes made all the brighter and icy-looking in the shade, Noah knocked on the frame with his knuckles. “Detective? Can you hear me?”

Gavin groaned at that, rolling his eyes at Noah with some difficulty. Much as he searched for one, nothing sarcastic to say came to mind. “Ye-uhp. Hear you loud and - clear.”

It was a question as much of formality as it was one designed to assess the situation. Even if an android could virtually see through a human to look at bodily functions, it didn’t mean they couldn’t ask for permission first.

(Imagining a squad room full of his coworkers wearing nothing but their underwear _used_ to be a hilarious mental image. Then he realized how an android might do the same to him sometime, maybe transmit the information to CyberLife for sale to the highest bidder, and it ceased to be funny.)

Eyes roving over the scene inside the car, indifferent to the smoke and rain obscuring his view, Noah repositioned himself. His face disappeared, the door handle snapped, and with a protesting, grinding sound, he lifted the door open.

Sirens started whining in the far off background. At least a dozen people had to have called EMS by now.

“Are you injured? Are you still belted in?”

“Ah, fuck, I dunno,” Gavin gave a weak huff. At least he was fucking _trying_ to breathe through the pain, even if it wasn't doing a damn thing. Why did people say that? Just made it hurt worse - assholes. “Getting shot might count, but I'll let you be the judge of that one. And yes, I'm belted in - I didn't take off without it, I'm still semi-responsible. _Hey_ , stop - lookin’ at me, with your fuckin’ clothing thing, looking through it.”

“Why would I do that, Detective, for the reasons you’re thinking of?” Gingerly, Noah braced a hand on the side of the upturned passenger seat. With the other, he reached down, stretching to press the seatbelt release next to Gavin’s hip. “My priority is to get you out of here.”

Blood had already stained the cloth of the seatbelt. The metal clip shone bright red.

Noah didn’t give him a second to admire it, tossing the restraint aside with a clatter.

“Can you move? How does your back feel?”

More formalities, falsified comforts. It wasn’t like he couldn’t already see all the damage in his scans.

“Sure, I can move, lemme fuckin’ - _walk_ out of here, if you'll get out of the way.” Sarcasm was probably not the wisest area to resort to, but it wasn't like Gavin was about to start whimpering and crying about the pain - just to prove it. “And I'm not sure about my back, kinda more concerned with my gunshot wound, sorry. If you need to know, everything kinda hurts.”

At that, some visible concern crossed Noah’s face. He glanced dubiously at the steering wheel, half-keeping his partner pinned in the wreck. Getting hauled out was going to be a different kind of hurt, no two ways around it.

Wings pulled in as tight as they could go, short of dislocating, the android leaned down and offered a hand. The light disappeared again, blocked by his body. “Here. You could still use some additional leverage.”

Eyeing the hand, Gavin opened his mouth to say something, before closing it with a swallow. Fuck, it was gonna hurt like hell, but it was better than sitting/lying in the car, waiting for paramedics or some shit to do the same exact thing, right? Might as well get it over with right then and there, before he lost the courage to do so.

“Okay, fuck, okay - just don't yank me out,” he muttered, grasping at Noah's hand with one of his, the other ready to use the car around him as leverage to get free. “Else I'm gonna - bleed all over my car even more.”

Not like it was exactly salvageable, but he had invested a lot of time in being careful with his car. That didn't change now. Even totaled, it was worth respecting, however misguidedly.

Fortunately, Noah didn’t feel the need to point out the flawed obsessing over materialistic matters. He focused on the job before them, pulling up as smoothly and steadily as a crane might reel in a cable. Broken glass from the windshield crunched as the wincing driver was pulled free.

Gavin tried to ignore the new sound of drips hitting the upholstery. That wasn’t leaking oil or antifreeze or fuel hemorrhaging into a flammable puddle beneath them.

Not like there was anything he could do about that - he wasn't about to call for a break to let himself bitch about being in agony. Not like it didn't come with the job, being in the police. Better to just grit his teeth and bear it, best he could.

“Oh-kay,” he wheezed out after a minute, making himself look somewhere _other_ than the bleeding hole in his chest. Every gasp seemed to pump more red from the ragged hole beneath his clothes. He focused on his rescuer’s icy eyes, so blue the irises seemed to merge with the whites. “How about next time, we both agree to not be idiots?”

A glimpse of something like confusion crossed Noah’s expression, but with the same, steady, measured motion, he stepped backwards, intent on carrying out the plan. Somehow managing to perch on the Camaro’s wheel well without slipping, he slowly stood up, lifting Gavin halfway out the door in the process. He slipped his other hand under the opposite arm.

It must have looked like a very absurd, slow-motion dance move from the sidewalk, but as yet, the pedestrians had failed to swarm the crash scene. A few had phones pulled out. Most simply stood back, whispering and pointing.

The sirens sounded a lot closer out here.

“Can you move your legs, Detective?”

Ah, wonderful. Now this would be tricky - how to climb the rest of the way out without tipping the vehicle back onto its wheels. The old two-door wasn’t exactly made to rest evenly on one side like this.

“They're not broken,” Gavin snapped, which, yes, was a shitty thing to do to the person who was helping him. And also, he couldn't even verify if that was true or not, right now. Giving himself a moment to just work through the next bout of pain, trying in vain to not think of the wath of blood running down his leg, he spoke again. “Okay, shit - sorry. Yes, I can move them.”

Taking an assessing look at the empty road beside them, all grime and rainwater, Noah seemed to decide on his plan. His right wing unfurled, arcing forward and around his shoulder like a third hand. “Hold onto this. I have to keep my weight centered, as a counterweight, so the car doesn’t keel over. Step up onto the running board, I’ll lift you over and set you down. Understand?”

Blinking red and white lights rounded the corner, a block north of their location. The meat wagon would still need to thread its way past several stopped vehicles before its staff could be of any use.

“Okay, fuck… aren't I not supposed to grab these? Twist your - quills, or somethin’?” Gavin tried for some kind of humor, even as he grabbed ahold of the wing, slippery as the blood made it feel. Little, coagulated blobs of red stuck between the quill barbs. His fingers tightened on instinct when another sharp, deep-felt pain buried itself in his chest, making his vision blur and spin. “Oh… shit, uhh… I ain't gonna stay awake much longer, Noah.”

One hand freed, Noah repositioned his hold, holding him under each arm. “You’re almost there. Just keep looking at me, all right?”

That was some kind of encouraging, versus being told how much his blood pressure was bottoming out, or if his pupils were turning the size of silver dollars. There was no need to get clinical. It didn’t calm the nerves any.

Noah’s were only betrayed by the yellow LED. His expression was perfectly stony, calm even in the face of such a gruesome sight.

Was he worried, or wasn’t he?

“Ye-hepp, lookin’ right at you, dude,” Gavin mumbled, even as the urge to look down at his still bleeding wound, just to see how bad it was again, came over him. Instead, he did as previously told, attempting to take the first step up on the running board, before almost crumpling, hand digging into Noah's wing. Whoops - he could apologize for that later. Right now, he felt a little more concerned with how hard it was to stand, nevermind keep his head up. “Righhht at you…”

It must have worked. With no apparent struggle, Noah lifted him over edge, gently setting him down on unsteady feet outside the wreck. Deftly using a combination of three limbs was certainly no human could have hoped to make work.

“Aw, fuck, dude.” Letting his head tilt down, Gavin tried to shake it, before quickly deciding that was a big no. It was hard enough seeing, without any more fucking distortion. “This… sucks. My car’s all - broken.”

“Your insurance covers on-the-job damages, Detective. Don’t worry.”

Blipping, the ambulance threaded its way through the crowds, half shepherded by a couple of uniformed patrolmen. Additional units from the nearest precinct must have finally cottoned on to the ruckus occurring along -

He must have tried laughing again.

Without taking hands off him, still bent in an improbable crouch atop the Camaro, Noah tilted his head, bewilderment overcoming his detached demeanor. “Detective? What’s so funny?”

“That - no, it won't, it fuckin’ sucks, Noah. But… hey… d-do you… know what street we're on?”

Fuck, of course this was where he crashed. It was like some type of shitty, divine irony.

Irony that Noah steadfastly followed through with answering to, as straightfaced as ever: “Conner Street.”

Nothing. Not even a little spark of humor in his pale gaze.

Maybe he was too worried to laugh.

“Funny… r-right?” Gavin tried for an eyeroll, only succeeding in his vision darkening quick. If he wasn't passed out by the end of his sentence, he would be quite shortly. “Eh… not like you…”

Trailing off, forgetting just what it was he was gonna say, Gavin forced himself to focus again, eyes locked onto Noah's jacket from his slumped over position. He was gonna be dead weight, more than he already was, soon.

“F… fuck, dude. Your jacket… how's it al… ways… so w-white?”

The android might have tried to answer, but it only registered as a blurred-over bark, presumably aimed at the EMTs piling out of the ambulance. Hands besides Noah’s fluttered over his back, grabbing at his arms, his sides, looking for places to support him.

He passed out before Noah’s let go.

——-

All things considered, extracting Detective Reed from the wreck had taken no more than a very-fraught seven minutes, thirty seconds.

No one besides himself really needed to know. At the moment, Noah spent a portion of his processing power fuming at the initially-inefficient first-responder reaction. Yes, maybe he had neglected to make the call himself. But getting back to his incapacitated partner, as quickly as possible, was the goal. He didn’t know if he had minutes or seconds before his grounded mode engaged.

In his haste, he might have neglected to speak up.

Nevertheless it had worked out - to an extent. Instead of being pronounced DOA, Gavin was in surgery, and the prognosis was encouraging. His odds of survival were much greater than they would have been if Noah was any slower to act. The one bullet to get past the Camaro’s door buried itself in the anterior muscle of Gavin’s back, after glancing off the top of his liver. Presumably, it wouldn’t impede his breathing any worse than an occasional cough would.

He would be sore upon waking up, that was the worst of it. Captain Fowler’s reaction had amounted to a few curt orders, citing what forms would need to be filled out, topped off with “Don’t let him pick his stitches. Bad habit.”

Among many, Noah noted, ending the call, declining to act on any curiosity, asking what Fowler meant. Those were usually only met with running into a proverbial brick wall. Why ask when you could go find out for yourself?

And he supposed he wasn’t far off of picking up one or two less-endearing traits for himself. Gavin has brought this up before, on a rainy stakeout last year, instructing his partner to punch him if he ever made a poor decision that might somehow impact his health.

How was a physically-distanced Noah to stop him from leaping into his car to pursue the drug dealers?

Reed was the more experienced of the two of them, and the RK900’s role was strictly subservient. He was to watch and learn, not arbitrarily wrest investigations away from his partner. They were supposed to work together. How did hurting one another constitute that?

Yes, he had kept his distance in recent days. But that was in keeping with what Gavin had said - “watch and learn.”

He couldn’t do that and preemptively punch his borderline-self-destructive friend at the same time.

Could he?

The surgery drew to an end, and Gavin was wheeled into a nearby recovery room. Waiting for the anesthesia to wear off, Noah sat down in the chair beside the bed. Thankfully the yarn to play cat’s cradle with was still in his pocket.

There was dried blood still on his feathers.

——-

It wasn't a first time experience for Gavin, waking up in a hospital after hours of surgery, but it didn't make it any more pleasant to be familiar with it.

His eyes cracked up, vision blurry from whatever length of time he was out and whatever he was probably doped up on - not that that would stop the soreness, couldn't make it that easy on him, huh? - enough so that he couldn't immediately identify whatever figure was lingering in the room.

But he had a guess. Fuck, that better not be -

“...Elijah?” His mouth moved before his brain was done being sluggish, eyes opening a bit more even as he felt another tug to just close them, wait out the haziness a bit longer. After a second, he sorely regretted not doing so - it was definitely not that specific asshole staring back down at him.

But the pale eyes were eerily alike. He had seen enough press photos of Elijah Kamski to note it.

Sitting in the chair beside his bed, one knee bent over the other, Noah managed to look almost normal. If it weren’t for the hunched-up wings, outermost wingtips lying stretched out on the floor, he may have.

He heard a soft beep, aside from the dialed-down beep-beep-beep of his very own EKG. The second beep was gentle, higher, more akin with a computer chewing up new input. It almost sounded laughably cute, if it wasn’t so quiet.

“No, Detective. There’s no Elijah here.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Gavin muttered, rubbing at his crusty eyelids, looking away as he tried to decide whether he should actually elaborate on that or not. It wasn't as if anyone really knew his family tree, or that there was any kind of pride in flaunting that, no matter how famous Elijah was now. He didn't want anything to do with him, or the rest of them, same as they felt toward him. Fuck, it was a lot to start thinking about, straight out of surgery. “Sorry, I just… couldn't tell who you were.”

Any other person might have cracked a joke, pointed out that - in that attire - it would be impossible to be mistaken for anything else.

Ever sensitive to his needs, Noah didn’t say as much, or ask why he had thought that. He simply sat there and let the man get his bearings back.

“Would you like some water? The nurses say you won’t be eating for at least a few hours, assuming there aren’t any complications.”

“Uh… nah, I'm okay for now.” Giving a shrug, Gavin surveyed the room, trying to find anything else to talk about, now that he was awake. Not like he would be allowed to get up and start walking just yet. That was a day away, minimum. “So… they catch those guys, or not? Tell me, how humilated should I feel right now?”

“Slim to none,” Noah replied, with as unassuming an expression as ever. His hands stayed folded in his lap. “Why should you feel humiliated? You were, quite literally, outgunned.”

“Uh, because it was a fuckin’ stupid thing to do, I dunno.” Maybe it wasn't, but wasn't it also Noah he was talking to? The guy who always cared whether he failed a mission or not? Even if he wasn’t saying as much right off the bat, he would at some point.

Gavin let his head fall back against the pillow. “Ugh… I hate wakin’ up in the hospital. Never spells out good for the rest of your week.”

Or, in his case, the next few weeks. The advances of modern medicine still hadn’t managed to speed up the human body’s ability to heal. He wasn’t like the android sitting just over there - bend some thirium lines, change a few filters, close him up, good to go. There hadn’t been half as much ceremony surrounding Noah’s crash as his own no doubt was, offscreen.

Not to mention his poor Camaro, probably resting in a junkyard impound by now. With its windshield gone, hood crumpled, it must have looked as if it had been blinded.

Staring at him, almost unnervingly, Noah broke eye contact. “Captain Fowler was informed. You’re to take at least a week of medical leave. Detective Collins will shoulder your caseload. I will be assisting.”

“A week?” Not that it wasn't normal, to have some medical leave after being as hurt as he was, but it wasn't like he couldn't even just do some fucking paperwork, just sit at his desk. He wasn't delicate like that - he didn't _need_ a week, and if he did, he didn't want it. “That's bullshit. Let's compromise here, I'll spend, like, three days complainin’ at my house, and then come back and no one says anything.”

Sidelong, he saw Noah’s brow angle down over his eyes. Sharply, just like a hawk turning its head, he looked back. “You’ll do nothing of the kind, Detective.”

“Ugh… watch me.” Not like it wasn't something he hadn't ever attempted before, either, with varying measures of success. “Okay - anythin’ else to say? Or are we good? Any thoughts swirlin’ around in your head or what?”

There were more than a few, clearly. Noah looked far too intense to simply leave their meeting at this. “If I may elaborate, the week _at home_ is in preparation for a return to restricted duty. It’s not Captain Fowler’s mandate. It’s the union’s. And if you want to keep enjoying their coverage, it is very much recommended you do as they say.”

Okay, so that wasn’t Noah talking: it was the worker’s rights board temporarily hacking into his brain.

“Restricted duty - who the fuck do they think I am? Oh my god, now I get to deal with this, and my car is totaled.” Gavin picked his head up from the pillow, only to crash it back down with frustration. He became a cop for a reason, and it wasn't to sit on his ass all day. “Any other shitty news for me? Am I dyin’? Say yes.”

“That depends, Detective. Metaphorically? Literally? Or professionally?”

“Oh, now you've got a mouth,” he rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the smirk that forced itself onto his face. At least Noah was learning to have a sense of that, after all this time. “I'll take literally and professionally. And you're not allowed to say that we're all dyin’, just slowly. I hate that.”

Alas, even as he smiled, Noah’s lips only curved downward, to better match his coal-black eyebrows. “You aren’t going to die. The bullet glanced off your liver, but nothing else vital was struck.”

“Lighten up. I know I'm not going to die, it just hurts like hell.”

Noah wasn’t as sympathetic sounding as he had seemed back on Conner St. “And don’t pick your stitches. Captain Fowler says you’ve done so before.”

Ah, yes, because his commanding officer couldn’t help but bring up all those other times Reed had somehow landed himself in a hospital on the department’s dime. Picking stitches out ahead of schedule was the least of the offenses he had committed afterward.

They weren’t the ones laid up here, bored out of their minds. Easy for them to say, then go on about their day. Had any of them besides Noah thought to visit in person?

(Tina’s absence was at least excusable. She was out west, to Ann Arbor, seeing about some hospitalized cousins. Indirectly, she already knew Gavin’s pain.)

“Yeah? Maybe it's because these doctors don't know shit. When it's healed, it's healed, you don't need them anymore.” Maybe he would pull them out, just out of spite for this very moment. Noah didn't need to know that the other times just meant he had to get stitched up again, for being an idiot.

Who was gonna stop him?

Certainly not this plastic prick. Today was case-in-point in his perpetual failure to keep his partner from harm, self-inflicted or otherwise.

Glaring daggers at him, Noah was probably just looking for an excuse to leave by now. Most people would.

For a moment, it seemed like it was going to happen. Unfolding his crossed legs, the android stood up. His wings folded in against his back, ends dragging on the floor like improbable coattails. But instead of heading for the door, he stepped over, right up beside the bed, and leaned over.

Their noses couldn’t be more than three inches apart.

Gavin almost cringed back, before forcing himself not to. There wasn’t much further he could go. What the fuck was Noah doing, thinking he was being intimidating? It was more bizarre, than anything.

“Uh… can I help you, dude?”

Evidently, the answer was _yes_ , because the android didn’t move. The half-stoop was unusual, compared to the ramrod-straight posture, but even stranger was the lack of breathing and blinking.

What was he getting at? Trying to get at?

“Ugh… stop it, Noah. Seriously. Or - or tell me what the hell you're lookin’ for.”

There was already enough Gavin had to worry about without being reminded of Elijah Kamski when he was forced to stare right at Noah's eyes. Not that they met more than a couple times, at most, but it was not a fucking sight he wanted to be seeing, or thinking about, in any capacity. He already had made his slip in waking up.

No need to make another so soon.

Contrary to being told, right to his unnecessarily-close face, to reveal what he was trying to see, Noah seemed to flat out ignore the command. His LED winked and spun, staying its usual placid blue.

No hint of nervous yellow anywhere.

“Aw, fuck… you want me to say somethin’? Ugh… fine, this is only to get you out of my face.” Looking away for a second as much as he could, Gavin decided that probably wasn't the best thing to say. “Okay, okay… I won't pull my stitches out, happy? And I'll even take that week I'm being forced into acceptin’. No joke.”

Like his taking care of himself was suddenly so important to anybody, that took some digesting to accept. Up until recently, there was virtually no one who gave a damn.

Reaching over and up compulsively, he flicked the side of Noah's head with a smirk. “I'm bein’ serious, N, so back off, okay?”

The LED blinked.

“Last time I backed off, this happened.” Without averting his eyes, the android reached up to tap the covered-up bandages. “I can’t effectively cover you if you won’t accept the help, Gavin.”

What, because who knew talking to a couple of dealers could go so sideways, so fast? Noah certainly jumped into the chase fast enough once it was underway.

“The hell are you talkin’ about? I accept it, easy enough.” Shifting back, Gavin shrugged to cover a wince. Maybe that was another half-truth, or something like it, but it was true for him now, at least. “Or, if you're that worried, just assume I've already accepted it, dude. You're too focused on what I'm tellin’ you, you gotta just make your own calls every now and then, Noah.”

Even weirder than the stony silence was the new uncertainty that undermined Noah’s expression. No, he wasn’t half as deviant as some other androids at Central, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t look around his coding walls as needed, make objective calls without having a human tell him to do so first. He was smart enough for that.

They were each idiots in their own rights. And that was never more apparent than times like now.

A second later, the RK900 stepped back, straightened up, and the ice refroze. “Detective, as much as you may not understand it, I’m here to serve you. That is insofar as my official role goes, and I’m content to do so. What good does it do you or I to act outside of that program, when you constantly resist letting me assist you? I didn’t attempt to talk you out of meeting those dealers, because I knew I would only hear a ‘fuck off, I can handle it’ for my trouble.”

“Okay, okay… fine, I'm a stubborn piece of shit who doesn't let you help me, I'll admit it. So, I guess I'll just start forcin’ myself to say yes then, if it stops you from hiding behind that programmin’ excuse.” Raising an eyebrow at him, Gavin settled back down onto his pillow. “I'm not going any deeper than that with this talk, it'll just make me sound like a moron. Next time you ask me if we're doin’ it together, assume it’s a yes.”

They would make a more effective hunting duo if they just tore down a couple walls - one made of coded blocks, the other out of neurons and synapses.

Noah had to see that. The held-back anger seemed to drain out of his eyes and posture. He almost went for apologetic, but the next words out of his mouth shot that prospect down fast: “Very well. …But for the record, you don’t sound like a moron. You just act it.”

“You asshole. I'm in the hospital, wounded, and you insult me.” Gavin glared at him, even if there was no real heat in his gaze. In some ways, it was the best possible thing he could have said - bringing it back to normal, irreverent levels of banter. “But at least it's just act.”

And he wouldn’t be acting moronic, on quite the same level, for at least a week. The best thing about that botched pursuit was that no civilians had been hurt. The worst the pushers had done was pepper his car with bullets.

Their luck one of them got through.

It would mean ballistics could trace it, figure out what gun fired it, where said gun was sold, and to who. Modern forensics was wonderful in that sense.

Not to mention the ever-hovering police drones that had sallied after them like sentient comets.

Noah was probably thinking along the same lines, but without stepping away from the bed, he looked momentarily over at the door. Was that not his cue to get lost, heart-to-heart over?

“Why are you so… like you, Detective?” He rephrased the question midstream. “That is, you know where I came from, and why I am what I am. With you, I don’t have half as much… information.”

Oh. Well… that certainly was the last thing Gavin wanted to get into. Even if it confirmed Noah wasn’t the prying sort by nature, because he didn’t already know, that didn’t make the topic any easier to broach.

Giving another cringe, tiny as it was, Reed tried to shrug. Maybe it wasn't exactly fair, him not giving anything of his own, while Noah let him know everything. It was just that, childhood-wise, it was like kicking a hornet's nest for him - what the fuck was there to get out of that, besides being stung?

Again?

“Uh… you wanna know something? About me?” Gavin asked, before sighing and continuing. “I have a… half-brother. Dude, I know it's not really fair for me to not really explain the circumstances for this, but that's a whole nother fuckin’ story. We didn't grow up together, I've only ever seen him in person a couple of times at most. He's pretty famous… Elijah? Yeah - that one. Elijah Kamski.”

In typical android form, the surprise didn’t shine through Noah’s face at full force. But his creased brow finally eased off, and the next frown he donned was very much not one of aggression. It was understanding.

“That… explains a lot, actually.” Blinking, glancing again at the door, Noah took another step back. “Your reticence, especially.”

“Eh, I'll pretend I know what that word means. And don't think you're gettin’ out of this pity party that easily, Noah.” Pointing toward the door, Gavin shook his head, before pointing behind at the empty chair. “Pull that up, and lemme tell you all about my shitty life.”

He did ask, after all.

Eyebrow raised, Noah looked down at the chair in question before grabbing it by the arm, pulling it closer and sitting down as directed.

Trading sob stories, Gavin wouldn’t be half surprised if they ended on a hug within the next few hours.

But it was certainly preferable to lying here, awaiting death by boredom, alone. This was just the two of them. No one else had to know.

Almost perfect.


End file.
